You may now submit to your entry fee, which is any amount you like, donated to any charity you like as long as it is on the side of the forces for earthly good. An entry fee submitted to a charity for the Advancement Of Aliens Bent Upon Galactic Domination, for example, will automatically disqualify you from this competition. Once you’ve done that, come back here and submit your pome to the comments section.
Hopefully, Mr James Clarke of the Stoep Talk Organisation (which owns The Star newspaper) will be our celebrity judge again this year. Not only is Mr Clarke an expert of Pomes, he is also Venerably Fit for duty, being the heroic L*E*A*D*E*R of the Tour De Farce. He looks lovely in Lycra, too, and if you run out and buy a copy of his book Blazing Saddles you can photostat all the pics and prestik them up on your walls, as we have done here at the STPC HQ.
Rules of the Competition:
Only the worst poem will win. There will be no runners up, and no consternation prizes. You may submit more than one entry; in fact you must please do so because we want at least 20 pomes this year. The competition is not open to organisers of the competition (me), the judges (Mr Clarke) or their immediate family, unless they use a pseudonym.
The winner will receive the title, Pandora’s Poet Laureate, to keep for a year, and also a best quality photoshop-enhanced mouse-crafted jpeg certificate to keep forever. But that’s not all… as a bonus this year we have one almost-new purple pen of mysterious origin, with green glitter ink and a puff of pink troll-hair with springy googly eyes.
Hints and tips:
Crehatif spelling will not earn you any points, unless it is completely unintentional. Mr Clarke has x-ray eyes and is able to detect this sort of thing, so don’t even try too hard. Go now! Why are you still here, reading this, when you ought to be off righting you’re pomes?
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Short Exceptance Speech
Melodi emailed this to us, apologies for our late posting of it:
Short Exceptance Speech
Dear Ms Pandora and Mr James Small
It is with great humbility that I accept this onerous award.
I’ve never won anything like this before and I hope it won’t go to my head.
In honour of the honour I will be decorating my second bathroom in the same classical tones as my Pandora’s Poet Laureate certificate of 2007. After which I will be approaching Mr Ludwig (the flower man, not the composter) about having a rose named after myself.
And in the words of the intrepid Jesus, “I’ll be back”.
Yours poetically
Melodi Bloggs
Pandora’s Poet Laureate 2007
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Winner 2007
The universe has delivered a delightful twist to the conclusion of the Silvery Tay Poetry Competition 2007. In place of Ms Patricia Lewis, we have as our Celebrity Judge this year, one bona-fide Mr James Clarke. Despite his hectic schedule - writing Stoep Talk, fielding masses of fan mail and training for the Tour De Farce, he has pored over the submissions and made his decision. For this we shower him with thanks, rose petals, and blessings for his fields - long may they be fertile.
The winner is: Melodi Bloggs, for the pome ‘A Quick Word’. Jolly well done old girl!
Mr Clarke said: “I am sorry you have not told me of your competition before. I could have publicised it in my column. It's a lovely idea. Next year I will get readers to enter.
I detected the same hand in two or three of the poems. One or two were worth publishing in Carapace. They all tried hard [but] none came anywhere near being bloody awful. [William McGonagall] remains absolutely unchallenged.”
Long live deplorable verse, and long live the spirit of the great McGonagall!
Thank you all for helping me to amuse myself.
Entries for next year’s competition will open on the 1st of November 2007.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Celebrity Judge Appointed!
We are delighted to announce that the Celebrity Judge for this year’s competition will be none other than Ms Patricia Lewis. Having heard about this competition via blondextenshuns.com, she has most graciously volunteered in this, the eleventh hour, thus saving us from having to impersonate Amor Vittone and be sued, and has also offered to plump the prize up quite substantially. Our winner will now receive not only the title of Pandora’s Poet Laureate and a quality Photoshop Enhanced jpeg certificate, but will also have their Bad Poem set to music and performed at her March 2007 Konsert - A Tribute to Bles.
Patricia has many entertainment credits to her name, among them some platinum blonde albums like Don’t Tempt Me and Ek is Lief Vir Jou. As stated on her official website, “Patricia is a part of the entertainment industry for the past 16 years already”, so we’re surely in the best-manicured of hands here.
Each submission was so spectacularly awful that no semi-finalists could be detected. Well done, you all made the finals. Good luck! Oops, we mean, break a metacarpal!
The winner will be announced on Monday the 26th of February 2007.
Patricia has many entertainment credits to her name, among them some platinum blonde albums like Don’t Tempt Me and Ek is Lief Vir Jou. As stated on her official website, “Patricia is a part of the entertainment industry for the past 16 years already”, so we’re surely in the best-manicured of hands here.
Each submission was so spectacularly awful that no semi-finalists could be detected. Well done, you all made the finals. Good luck! Oops, we mean, break a metacarpal!
The winner will be announced on Monday the 26th of February 2007.
Finalist 1, Rock Chik Rox
Untitled (1)
This is a poem
I wrote about home
It is Zeneth Street
We do not grow wheat
‘cause this is not a farm
Don’t even have a barn
If I had a tower
I would sing flowerpower
I’d chew on the grass
I’d make stuff with glass
No, I do not live on a farm
No, we do not have a barn.
I can ryhm
‘cause I’ve got the time
- Rock Chik Rox
This is a poem
I wrote about home
It is Zeneth Street
We do not grow wheat
‘cause this is not a farm
Don’t even have a barn
If I had a tower
I would sing flowerpower
I’d chew on the grass
I’d make stuff with glass
No, I do not live on a farm
No, we do not have a barn.
I can ryhm
‘cause I’ve got the time
- Rock Chik Rox
Finalist 2, Melodi Bloggs
a quick word
I've never done a blog before
Not ever in my life
But I know the rules of poetry:
I must rhyme life with strife.
And above must always go with love
And hope with grope, etcetera
And nothing rhymes with that,
So I'd better stop now.
- Melodi Bloggs
I've never done a blog before
Not ever in my life
But I know the rules of poetry:
I must rhyme life with strife.
And above must always go with love
And hope with grope, etcetera
And nothing rhymes with that,
So I'd better stop now.
- Melodi Bloggs
Finalist 3, Dachshund Tom
Untitled (2)
All those who've writ a rotten poem
(And I admit it takes one to know 'em)
On the whole tend to adore
Rhyming couplets and metaphor.
But don't get too excited:
That love is unrequited.
And for the rest it's prob'ly best
To generalise and to suggest
That the all you really need to do
To write a poem that smells of poo
Is to feature in your ragged lines
(Along with countless Important Signs)
A solopsistic gaze or
Mention of razor.
- Dachshund Tom
All those who've writ a rotten poem
(And I admit it takes one to know 'em)
On the whole tend to adore
Rhyming couplets and metaphor.
But don't get too excited:
That love is unrequited.
And for the rest it's prob'ly best
To generalise and to suggest
That the all you really need to do
To write a poem that smells of poo
Is to feature in your ragged lines
(Along with countless Important Signs)
A solopsistic gaze or
Mention of razor.
- Dachshund Tom
Finalist 4, The Sa
My Heart Went as Black.
In it went,
My piece of bread.
Stale,
White,
High-
GI.
It was all I wanted
In this cruel
World.
But
The creak
Of the toaster lever
As I lowered the oblong
To it's death,
Sang a song
Of
Despair.
I could sense something
Edging near.
A smell
Of fear.
I could sense something
On the plate.
A sight
Of hate.
For once
My senses did not
Dare
Betray me.
For the marriage
Of the fear
And hate,
Did culminate on this here plate
To form the thing I dread the most.
The travesty that is
Burnt toast.
- The Sa
In it went,
My piece of bread.
Stale,
White,
High-
GI.
It was all I wanted
In this cruel
World.
But
The creak
Of the toaster lever
As I lowered the oblong
To it's death,
Sang a song
Of
Despair.
I could sense something
Edging near.
A smell
Of fear.
I could sense something
On the plate.
A sight
Of hate.
For once
My senses did not
Dare
Betray me.
For the marriage
Of the fear
And hate,
Did culminate on this here plate
To form the thing I dread the most.
The travesty that is
Burnt toast.
- The Sa
Finalist 5, Susynoid
Ode to a Lurgy (or "I have an Allergy" - for the novice of grand literature).
Dribble dribble (squible)
Snort and snivel (mucus),
Rhinitis is my lot (Oh, how I wish for a whiskey tot)).
My eyes is red (I can no longer focus)
My head is dead (the rest of my body can't stay ahead)
I gotta lotta snot (now where is that bloody tot?.
* Squible - neologism thought out by the poet (that's me). It is a word for excessive dribbling. Like when u really have a bad flu!
- Susynoid
Dribble dribble (squible)
Snort and snivel (mucus),
Rhinitis is my lot (Oh, how I wish for a whiskey tot)).
My eyes is red (I can no longer focus)
My head is dead (the rest of my body can't stay ahead)
I gotta lotta snot (now where is that bloody tot?.
* Squible - neologism thought out by the poet (that's me). It is a word for excessive dribbling. Like when u really have a bad flu!
- Susynoid
Finalist 7, Anonymous (2)
Untitled (3)
my love is like a blue blue nose
dripping in the winter chill
or a scarecrow flapping in the breeze
with only the birds for company.
my love is like a white white star
cold and distant from this hill
I wonder, wonder where you are
and why you are so distant still.
my love is like a red red eye
puffy from weeping like a sore.
will it ever become a rose?
I do not know.
it was before.
- Anonymous (2)
my love is like a blue blue nose
dripping in the winter chill
or a scarecrow flapping in the breeze
with only the birds for company.
my love is like a white white star
cold and distant from this hill
I wonder, wonder where you are
and why you are so distant still.
my love is like a red red eye
puffy from weeping like a sore.
will it ever become a rose?
I do not know.
it was before.
- Anonymous (2)
Finalist 8, Mme de La Etoileblanche
Untitled (4)
Oh fie, how canst thou mock me so
From up there, and I down here in the depths of this well
that you had your manservant throw me down
After I sold your horse to that gypsy
For two scarlet ribbons
And a comb.
Come now, you must admit
That they were pretty.
I have lain here for the last twenty years
with my bones in a petrified tangle
and I am growing restless.
Twas I, smashed that china shepherdess
Gainst thy bedpost last night.
And next week I plan to set
all your persian carpets alight
Unless you confess
To this terrible mess
That by the merciful gallows
May we be reunited.
- Mme de la Etoileblanche
Oh fie, how canst thou mock me so
From up there, and I down here in the depths of this well
that you had your manservant throw me down
After I sold your horse to that gypsy
For two scarlet ribbons
And a comb.
Come now, you must admit
That they were pretty.
I have lain here for the last twenty years
with my bones in a petrified tangle
and I am growing restless.
Twas I, smashed that china shepherdess
Gainst thy bedpost last night.
And next week I plan to set
all your persian carpets alight
Unless you confess
To this terrible mess
That by the merciful gallows
May we be reunited.
- Mme de la Etoileblanche
Finalist 9, Anonymous (3)
Untitled (5)
i know i can do this
difficult though it is to reach within mine psyche to find imperfection
it is insurrection of the soul
to become unwhole
And plunder my meaninglessness
as a goal
But I shall it if I must
I just did
- Anonymous (3)
i know i can do this
difficult though it is to reach within mine psyche to find imperfection
it is insurrection of the soul
to become unwhole
And plunder my meaninglessness
as a goal
But I shall it if I must
I just did
- Anonymous (3)
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